


My Dad

by Dewdropzz



Series: In Honour of a Good Man [7]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:23:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewdropzz/pseuds/Dewdropzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You would think that such a famous individual wouldn't have much time to spend with their children. This couldn't have been any more opposite the case with my father. No matter how many classes he had to teach, dig sites he had to attend, or mysteries he was entreated to solve, I was always his top priority."</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Dad

Why is it that we never realize how much we appreciate something until it's gone, and the things we love become more precious to us when we don't have them anymore? We don't pine for the friends we see every day, or relish every moment with them as we say we would after they've walked out of our lives, if we could only see them again. When a loved one dies, it's as if everything about them becomes holy. Items that once belonged to them are clung to and cherished by surviving friends and relatives who wish to keep them as relics of memorial. Things our loved ones used to say are remembered affectionately and quoted often, and if they've passed on any wisdom in their lifetime, we tend to realize after they're gone just how wise their little wisdoms were... And we wonder if our loved ones can see us, and imagine what they would think if they knew just how much we miss them, and how much they meant to us in life. But why didn't we show them this kind of affection when they were still alive? It's almost as if we love them more after they're already dead. 

Obviously this isn't true, but it does seem that way when you think about it. We've all heard the term "respect for the dead", but all too often people are not treated with such great respect in life. I hope I've treated my dad with all the respect that he deserves, so that when he does go, he knows that he was loved. 

I don't want to lose my dad at forty-two. It doesn't seem fair. I know guys who are in their fifties, sixties —even seventies! — whose parents are still alive and strong. My dad is eighty — He would have been eighty-one in April. He was in his thirty-eighth year when he adopted me. Yes, I am not the biological son of Hershel Layton, but I've never considered at any point in my life that he isn't my real father. I know nothing about my birth parents, and that's the way I want to keep it. Hershel Layton is my only parent; he raised me by himself since I was born. I never had a mother figure, as my dad lost the love of his life a year prior to my birth. Dad always told me that she would have been my mother, and in a way she still was, as it was she who made him realize he needed a child in his life. He didn't tell me this until I was in my late teenage years, entering into adulthood, but after Claire died, my dad experienced a period of melancholy. He adopted a child to put the light back into his life — To fill the empty space in his heart that she had left behind. I was blessed to have been the child to come home with Hershel Layton. The adoption went through at Christmastime, and for years my dad would tell me the story of when he brought me home, and how exhilarating it felt to become a father. When I was very young, I would always feel bad at Christmastime when we would be opening presents and I hadn't bought anything for him. My dad would tell me I didn't have to worry because I was his favourite Christmas present, and just having me with him was enough for him... How I wish those days could've never ended. 

You would think that such a famous individual wouldn't have much time to spend with their children. This couldn't have been any more opposite the case with my father. No matter how many classes he had to teach, dig sites he had to attend, or mysteries he was entreated to solve, I was always his top priority. I remember when I was very young, and not yet school-aged, my dad would often take me with him to his lectures. I would sit quietly on a chair in the corner of the room with my juice box and crackers, playing with whatever little thing I had brought to play with that day, or sometimes even observing the class. I used to love to watch my dad pace back and forth as he spoke to his students, a cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand as he pointed to various items of interest on the blackboard with his other. I recall that I particularly enjoyed the end of the lecture, when students would come up to my dad and comment how adorable and well-behaved I was, and say that I was "truly Professor Layton's son". Their compliments didn't mean much to me, a child of two or three years old, but it didn't take long for me to realize that good behaviour yielded sweet rewards... My dad would always, no matter what, take me for a blueberry muffin at the university's coffee shop when we were done. Usually I couldn't eat the whole thing myself, and he would end up finishing it for me. He never complained about it, though. That was the kind of father he was.

When I look back at my childhood, I realize that all my most prominent memories are something to do with him. I'll never forget Dad trying to teach me to ride a bicycle along a busy London sidewalk. It took a lot of convincing and pestering and whining for him to even allow me to try. He had wanted me to wait until we visited Monte'Dor, so I could practice on the back roads of Randall's vast property. Randall had (much to his maids' dismay!) allowed me to ride my tricycle through his mansion on numerous occasions, and his daughter Penelope, who was like a cousin growing up, was a few years my senior, and had already been through the whole two-wheeler learning experience. I, however, had different ideas, and wanted to ride a bike /before we went to Monte'Dor, probably so I could show off in front of Penelope. Through all the hair-raising adventures my dad had been on in his lifetime, I doubt he'd ever been as scared as he was when he let me loose on that sidewalk for the first time, bodies everywhere, and a pregnant lady whom I almost collided with while she was looking down at the other child she was pushing in a stroller... By some miracle, I made it around the block without injuring anyone, or myself! But I think my dad got his first grey hair that day. He was much calmer, believe it or not, when I was sixteen and learning how to drive. I did go to the back roads at Randall's for that. My dad swore he would not make the same mistake twice. 

My father was always trying to keep me safe, and with good reason, as I wasn't always the most cautious of kids. I would get all roughed up playing outside with my friends, and would come crying to my dad who would put a bandaid on my cut elbow or scraped knee, tell me everything would be all right, and request that I /please be more careful in the future. I would always promise I would be careful, but I usually had a hard time keeping those promises, as like any young boy, dangerous situations were a temptation to me. When I was eight, there wasn't a tree in our neighbourhood I couldn't climb. Once I shinnied up a pine tree in the park near our home. I climbed right up into the top branches, and panicked once I realized how high up I was. One hastily made move resulted in a badly broken arm, and the next three days in the hospital as they tried to set it, and re-set it. My dad wasn't angry with me for being reckless and climbing a tree I knew was dangerous to climb. He stayed with me for every minute of my hospital stay, just as he had the year before when I was in for a concussion I'd acquired at a football game, after conking heads with another player. I remember whenever I would come home from the hospital, my father and Flora would treat me like I'd come home from a war. They waited on me hand and foot, so much so, in fact, that Flora used to tease that I got injured on purpose just so they would be my servants. Of course it wasn't true, but I can't say I completely /hated getting sick or injured, because I knew they would take care of me... Perhaps I /liked when they took care of me...

Flora was always such a mother hen to me. My dad was so lucky to have had her around to look after me while he was away on his expeditions. Flora was fifteen when I was born, and was, in a sense, an older sister to me, as she was also a sort of 'adoptive child' of Professor Hershel Layton. Despite our age difference, the two of us were closer than the average blood siblings. In fact, it may have been our age difference that made us so close. Whenever my dad was away, Flora would be the one to take care of me. That is, until she got engaged when she was twenty-six and fled the nest. I was only eleven at the time — Much too young to be staying by myself for weeks on end. I stayed with my gran and grandpa the first few times he was away, but my dad decided before long that his parents were too old to be forced to look after a rambunctious and injury-prone eleven-year-old... That was the year Dad started taking me with him on his expeditions. 

Those were some of the most exciting experiences of my life. I'll never forget flying in an airplane out to the desert of a remote country in Africa. It was my first time on a plane, and I was off-the-walls excited to take off. The minute we got into the air was a different story. I thought for sure I was either going to throw up or die when I looked out the window into the infinitude of nothingness and clouds. It was especially embarrassing because I had already sworn to my dad I wasn't afraid of heights anymore, and had begged him for the seat nearest the window. My dad wasn't ashamed of my behaviour, however, and he didn't tease me like some other dads might have. He let me trade seats with him, and gave me his arm to hold onto for "as long as I needed it." As a child, there was something about holding onto my father that comforted me. It was like I was safe as long as he was there, and I knew he was there because I could feel him; I could bury my face in him if I wanted, and shut out the world and the things that scared me. When I held his arm in the airplane, I knew I wasn't going to fall, and even if our plane crashed, I knew he would protect me...

We solved puzzles for the rest of that flight. He gave me all the ones he thought I could solve, and I tried to come up with some good ones for him. The puzzles I created were hardly a match for the incredible mind of Professor Layton, but he always pretended to struggle just enough to make me feel as if I had succeeded in creating a puzzle that was actually a challenge for him. My father was always doing things like this for me. He encouraged me, in everything I aspired to do. After a day at my first dig site, I thought for certain I wanted to be an archaeologist. My dad thought this was wonderful, and was eager to teach me everything he knew. He showed me every artifact he had obtained from years in the field, and explained what each one was, or what he /thought each one might be. He told me that each relic had an important lesson to teach us about the past, and he shared with me the stories of how he came to discover them all. I ended up deciding I didn't care much for broken pieces of pottery and rusty cooking utensils, but the stories of how he obtained them were of utmost interest to me. 

When I was younger, I knew my dad was famous, but I never really knew the reason why, other than that he was "smart and good at solving puzzles." Hearing these stories made me realize my dad wasn't just a dad: He was a hero, a genius, and a gentleman the most; brave in the face of danger, cool in a crisis, and a friend to anyone who needed one, including strangers. These stories made me appreciate my father even more than I already did, and I found that I was in awe of my dad, as can only be expected from the son of Professor Hershel Layton. I knew at that moment that I wanted to /be like him/ somehow. I wanted to follow in his footsteps, but I already knew archaeology wasn't the path for me. I did, however, have a passion for solving mysteries — A passion that had been instilled in me by my father. It was not in my blood, but it was in my heart, and puzzles had been in my mind for as long as I could remember. With my father's help, I was able to choose a career path that would not only allow me to make use of my puzzle solving skills, but to use them for the greater good of the community, and all of England. I became a detective for Scotland Yard, a career that I could be passionate about, and that my father could be proud of.

After a short while, I was promoted to Inspector. My dad was so proud he invited everyone out to dinner in my honour. What he led me to believe would be a small gathering of buddies from the Yard turned out to be a massive party. Old family friends piled into the restaurant. Randall and his family, Clive, and Flora and her husband and children. My mates from the Yard did show up, as well as longtime friends of the family retired Inspectors Grosky and Chelmey, along with their wives Hanna and Amelie. My dad even arranged it so that Luke Triton could be there on one of his visits back to England. As a well-respected professor of criminology at the University of Boston, he was especially excited for me, and to see all his old friends together in one place again was truly worth flying across an ocean for. 

That was the last time we would all be together, however. As the years wore on, and people got older, everyone became busy with their own lives and families. Everyone, including myself. I moved out of my father's house as soon as I started my career. And I regret it now. There was no call at all for me to leave so young. Some kids stay with their parents until they're thirty years old... I was only twenty-two, and when I look back, I was too immature to be making that kind of decision, otherwise I wouldn't have made it. At the time I guess it didn't occur to me that moving out meant moving away from my dad. My flat wasn't far from his, but it was still far enough that I could not see him every day like I used to. When I woke up, he wasn't there, and when I went to sleep, sometimes he seemed even farther. We couldn't spend rainy weekend afternoons solving puzzles like we used to, because I was always working and he was always off on another adventure. 

I know my dad is dying. I can feel him slowly slipping away from us. In the past few weeks he's barely eaten, barely gotten up from his chair. I took some time off to spend with him — It's the first time I've done it in years. I've been with him for the past few days now, though he hasn't once gotten out of bed. And then this morning, I thought he wasn't going to wake up... I've notified his closest friends; I know he would like to see them... I don't know what else to do. He's not in any pain at all. As far as we know, he's healthy. I keep offering to do things for him, to look after him just like he did for me when I was young. I try to get him to solve puzzles, though my puzzles are still no match for him. No matter what I say, though, he always turns me down. I almost resent the fact that he's just going to let himself pass away. After all he's been through, it almost seems unfitting that he should go without a struggle, because Hershel Layton has always been a fighter, never willing to back down from even the most formidable of challenges. In the past little while, however, he's been talking a lot about Claire. 

Before these past few weeks he's hardly ever spoken of her, and I've never pressed him, because I knew how much it upset him. Before now, the most he ever really told me about her was when I was six years old, and had asked where my mother was. He told me she was in Heaven, because she was too wonderful for the earth, and I truly think he believed it himself. ...I know that I do. For any woman my father could love so much must have been an angel. Though he never spoke of her, I know she was always on his mind, for I've seen him kiss the picture of her he keeps on his night table. He keeps it next to his bed so it's the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep at night, and the first thing he sees when he wakes up. ...I think he's getting ready to go and be with her now. 

I'm not ready to say goodbye to my dad. It should be a comfort to me that he will go to sleep peacefully, and I will not have to lose him to disease or some tragic accident, but it's not. It's impossible to be happy when you're about to lose a parent. By blood or not, Hershel Layton is my real father. He raised me; he took care of me all those years. He loved me, even through the times when there was nothing lovable about me. And yet, I feel as though I am only now giving him the credit he deserves. I guess there are no words to express how much I love my dad. A world without Professor Layton will be a dismal world — A world with one less gentleman, one less hero, one less role model. When he leaves us, he'll take his wisdom, his puzzles, his kindness he's so famous for. So many people will lose their dearest friend... And I'll be losing even more than that. 

But my dad will be gaining something nobody on Earth could give him, and I don't want to keep him from it any longer. When I no longer have my dad to hold onto, I pray that I'll still be able to feel him in spirit. As long as I can still feel him, I'll know he's still here, and I won't have to be afraid because I'll know he's still protecting me.

As long as I can feel him, I'll know he's still here, and I'll know that he can see me and that he knows how much I miss him, how much he meant to me in life, and how much he'll always mean... My dad.


End file.
